


The Marriage of the Lord of Ithilien and the White Lady of Rohan

by professorbumblebee



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1829335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professorbumblebee/pseuds/professorbumblebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the War of the Ring, Faramir and Eowyn can begin their happily ever after, but there are still unresolved conflicts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Marriage of the Lord of Ithilien and the White Lady of Rohan

**Author's Note:**

> This was my final project for my Tolkien Seminar. Faramir and Eowyn are my favorites so I decided to explore their lives. Since we were talking about the books and not the movies, that's what I tried to stick too. My professor liked it a lot so I hope you all will too! 
> 
> I borrowed the name Athriel from marchingjaybird's fic A Mountain Keeps An Echo. Go read it, it's good.

The wedding itself and the reception afterwards went splendidly. The bride was radiant in white, and looked so gorgeous that comparisons to the Lady of Lórien were drawn. (Well out of earshot of Gimli Son of Glóin since no one wanted to start a fight.)   
  
Those who knew the groom Faramir, agreed that this was the happiest anyone had seen him. He was all smiles and completely doe eyed whenever his beloved was in sight. Some of the more perceptive guests noticed a flicker of sadness across his face, but thought little of it.   
  
The wedding itself was held in the new castle built for the couple in Emyn Aren. The walls were white stone, and it was a fair size, big enough to hold the wedding and give all the guests a comfortable place to sleep without displacing the servants.   
  
Éowyn’s brother, Éomer King and the Riders of the Mark dearest to them were there. The Rangers of Ithilien came, since they were the closest thing Faramir had to family since the war. King Elessar and Queen Arwen were there. Gimli son of Glóin was there as mentioned, and Legolas Greenleaf was at his side. Unfortunately, the Hobbits could not attend as they were occupied with rebuilding their home in the west. They sent their blessings and a casket of wine.  
  
The casket was thoroughly enjoyed by almost everyone. Legolas had brought a small party of elves from Mirkwood, and their music and laughing coupled with the wine made it the, how shall it be put… merriest party in recent memory.   
  
Everyone got drunk, except for Queen Arwen who was much to prim for that sort of thing.   
  
Athriel, Queen of Mirkwood had come along with Legolas and proved to be the life of the party. She was tall and slender, as most elves were. She had hair like the night, adorned in silver leaves. She lead the songs, called for more wine and thoroughly beat all of the Riders of the Mark including Éomer King in arm wrestling. The bride, who had often been excluded from the games the boys played because of her alleged feminine fragility, was much amused by this.   
  
The two women agreed to meet after Éowyn’s honeymoon to discuss the possibility of a colony in Ithilien. Both thought it was a splendid idea, but their faces were red with drink and laughter bubbled out of them every view words. Queen Arwen convinced them not to swear any oaths until they were both sober.   
  
Alas, the party had to end. Quite a few of the guests didn’t make it to the rooms, and remained passed out in the Great Hall. Éomer King snored slumped against the table. Legolas had fallen asleep in the corner, Gimli at his side.   
  
Éowyn and Faramir made it to their room but were far too intoxicated to consummate their marriage. They fell asleep, still in their wedding clothes, holding onto each other.

When Éowyn awoke the next day, the first words out of her mouth were, “Curse Hobbits and Elves and all who make wine.” Her head pounded and her mouth felt as though it was full of wool.   
  
Faramir groaned and put his pillow over his head. He hadn’t been much of a drinker before tonight, only having a few sips so not to humiliate himself in front of his father at formal dinners. He was well acquainted with its effects, since he took care of his late brother after nights of debauchery. Boromir often invited Faramir to come along, but when Faramir did take him up on it, it usually ended with him in the corner of the room with their host’s cat.   
  
Éowyn pushed herself up and, with a lot of cursing, changed into a new gown. Her husband still lay on the bed, occasionally letting out a moan.   
  
“Come my lord,” said Éowyn, sitting next to him. “You need water and food and you won’t get it lying in bed.”   
  
“Everything hurts,” muttered Faramir. “I cannot.”   
  
“You can, you’re just being a child. Come.” Éowyn stood and held out her hand.   
  
Faramir shook his head and tightened his grip on the pillow.   
  
“I am not your mother, and I will not force you out of bed to take care of yourself,” said Éowyn. “Do as you like, I care not.”   
  
She walked out, leaving her very hung-over husband to moan and feel sorry for himself. But that was not his nature to do that for very long, and he followed his wife out.   
  
Most of the day was spent cleaning up after the party and sending off most of the guests. The Rangers were to stay, as they still wanted to serve their Captain. Elessar and Arwen left, but not before Arwen sent Éowyn some concerned looks. The Rohirrim departed as well. The elves left, but not before Athriel, Queen of Mirkwood and Éowyn decided to met again in a month to better discuss the plans they made last night.

Faramir had been trying to perform a slight of hand trick for Elessar while his wife nearly made a drunken pact with the elf queen, asked why. When Éowyn explained it to him he said, “But should this not be the duty of the Steward, to oversee use of the land?”   
  
“Why?” asked Éowyn. “She approached me and this is as much my country as it is yours. I would enjoy your consul, since you know this land better than I.”   
  
Faramir couldn’t argue with her.   
  
Éowyn kissed his cheek. “Worry not about matters of state tonight. It grows late, and there is one more thing that we must attend to.”   
  
It took Faramir a moment, but the grin and glint in his wife’s eyes revealed her meaning. She took his hand and practically dragged him to the bedroom.   
  
Once they were inside, Éowyn kissed him ferociously, grabbing onto him and pressing up against him. It took Faramir a moment to get his bearings. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but not this. The stumbled out of their clothes and fell onto the bed. Everything went fast for Faramir, too fast. He had never seen Éowyn like this. He had never seen her arms, let alone her breasts. He finished quickly. He rolled off her and closed his eyes, ready to sleep, under the impression that he had done a good job.   
  
Éowyn shook his shoulder. “Are you joking? Get back up!”  
  
Faramir opened his eyes. “What?”   
  
“You need to finish me off! You cannot just fall asleep without giving me any satisfaction.”   
  
“Satisfaction?” asked Faramir. “How do you mean? We did what was necessary to conceive a child.”   
  
Éowyn threw up her hands. “Ilbereth above, I never thought I would have to explain this to my husband!”   
  
She did explain, that yes, women could achieve heightened pleasure during sex and that it was very rude to leave your partner hanging, especially when that partner would become pregnant and enjoy nine months of general unpleasantness.   
  
“How do you know this?” asked Faramir.   
  
“Why wouldn’t I know this?” asked Éowyn. “The women of court talk about it, the men talk about it.”   
  
Maybe they talked about it in Gondor. Faramir began to realize that Boromir may have been on to something when he encouraged his brother to get his head out of the books. He pushed the thought aside. He did not want to think about his dead brother on his marriage bed.   
  
Faramir wanted to put off learning how to pleasure his wife till tomorrow, but that would make her terribly upset and she certainly would be unwilling to have sex ever again. So he asked her how to do it, and she told him.   
  
It was for the best that he didn’t receive his sexual education from Boromir and his friends. Who were fine chaps in their own right, but pretended they knew more than they did and spent a disturbing portion of their lives thinking that babies and urine came out of the same hole.   
  
The night ended with Éowyn lying in bed in a blissful haze while her husband snored beside her. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. He was uneducated and a little barbaric when it came to sex, but she loved him never the less and couldn’t think of a better choice for a husband.   
  
Faramir’s sleep was restless. His dreams flashed from battles to his brother’s arrow-pierced corpse, to the Witch King standing above him. He woke with his hands shaking, his mind as lost and fragmented as though he was still poisoned by the Black Breath.   
  
Éowyn was asleep beside him. He left without waking her, not wanting her to guess his condition, not knowing that she also dreamed of corpses and foul breath.

***

Éowyn and Faramir spent most of the next month traveling through Ithilien. Faramir had spent many months in the province, but it was all new to Éowyn. She liked it well enough. It wasn’t the wide sweeping plains she was used to. But there was no hatred in her heart.   
  
There were no cities here, since many had left for the West when Sauron grew to power. They mostly stayed at inns in towns. The nights away from their new home were quiet. Long days of riding across hilly terrain left both of them exhausted. Mist wove between the hills, making everything grey and chilling them both to their core even though it was summer.   
  
Even when they were traveling, they were silent. Homesickness plagued Éowyn. The longer she rode, the more she longed for Rohan. For the songs and the green banners and her friends who seemed so far away.   
  
Faramir had often traversed these lands with his brother, and they would forever hold memories for him. They were good memories with much laughter and the thrill of exploring beyond their white city. But they gave Faramir no joy. He felt as though all the grief he had been holding back during the war was squeezing his heart, pushing the need to mourn into his throat.   
  
He didn’t tell Éowyn and she did not tell him. They could each sense something wrong with the other, but neither had the words to express their thoughts nor were they willing to try.   
  
One night, there was no town to stop in, no inn with beds. They made camp and prepared to sleep. But neither of them did. They watched the fire burn, and got lost in their own thoughts.   
  
A wolf’s howl snapped Éowyn out of her reverie.   
  
“They won’t come near us,” said Faramir. “They fear the fire.”   
  
“I know. I would keep a torch when I watched over the horses during the night.”

“They sent you out to face wolves?” asked Faramir, astonished. “All alone?” When he had men on his command, he had his men keep watch in groups of two.   
  
“Of course not, I had my dog with me.”   
  
Faramir frowned. “That is folly, sending only one to stand guard.”   
  
“I had fire, a dog, arrows and a knife,” said Éowyn. “I…”   
  
A horrible cry filled the air and Éowyn was knocked to the ground by a shape that had sprung out of the darkness. He horses panicked, filling their air with shrieks and straining against their ties. She reacted without thought, drawing a knife from her belt and slashing at her attacker.

Faramir knew had to move, he screamed at himself to move, but his arms and legs were locked in place and the knowledge that he would lose someone else overwhelmed him, and he could not break out.

With a mighty yell, Éowyn stabbed her attacker in the eye. Blood and brain spilled out when she withdrew her knife. She pushed it off and sat up. Her dress was torn and her arms and torso scratched.   
  
Faramir came to his senses. “My love…” He got up and found the packet of herbs, a wedding present from King Elessar that was excellent for healing.   
  
Éowyn stood. “We must go,” she said. “And return to Emyn Aren. There could be more out there.”   
  
Faramir looked at the body of the attacker. Now that his panic was over, it was clearly an orc that had attacked his wife. He shook his head. “I think not. Orcs are too cowardly to attack alone. If there was a band of them, there would be more.”   
  
“He could have been exiled from his group and was desperate for food,” said Éowyn. “And our cries could have drawn their attention.”   
  
“Perhaps. But you should take medicine and rest before we travel any further.”

“No. We need to get away as fast as possible. They know where we are.” Éowyn went to the horses. “Hush, Windfola.” She stroked her mount’s dappled neck and whispered words too soft for Faramir to hear. The horse calmed and nosed Éowyn’s hands for treats.

“At least let me bind your wounds,” said Faramir, approaching her.   
  
“They are not deep,” she said. “And I wish to leave.”   
  
“If you loose to much blood, you could die.”   
  
“I won’t lose enough for that,” she said. “And you should attend to your mount. We’ll ride as far as we can for tonight and then travel back for home.”

“Please, my lady, I beg you,” said Faramir. “Let me bind your wounds. They could become infected.”   
  
“We could be eaten by orcs if we do not move!”

There was a rustling in the trees and Éowyn turned. She saw nothing. “We must go,” she said again.

“My lady… Please, see reason.” Faramir feared not the orcs. But there was a deep dread that he would lose his wife so soon after he found her. And why shouldn’t he? His mother, brother and father all left. She was his only family. It seemed terribly possible that he would lose her.    
  
“If you’re dripping blood everywhere, they’ll be able to track us.”

Eoywn sighed and held out her arms. Faramir carefully wrapped the bandages around her wounds. Every time she heard a rustle in the trees, she would look over her shoulder.   
  
“Stop that!” said Faramir. “There’s nothing coming for us.”

“You do not know that!”   
  
“I do know!”   
  
“Of course you do! Because you are so much wiser and stronger than me and you know everything!”

“When have I ever implied anything of the sort!”

Éowyn huffed. “When you try to take control of every little detail!”   
  
“As I recall, you push yourself into matters that do not concern you and make rash choices!”   
  
There was another rustle in the trees.  

“No more dilly dallying,” said Éowyn. They started packing up camp and both were fuming. They mounted their horses and began the ride back home.  

Noises still came out of the forest and Éowyn began to see shadows out of the corner of her eye. She tied her reins and pulled a bow and arrow out of her quiver. She notched the arrow but didn’t draw it.   
  
“There is nothing following us,” said Faramir.   
  
Éowyn glared at him. “You do not see them?”   
  
Faramir had glimpsed dark shapes, but he had convinced himself that nothing was wrong, that they were safe. This wasn’t supposed to happen during peace time.

“Keep your weapons ready,” advised Éowyn.

The rode on, but it was impossible to say for how long. For Faramir, it felt as though several torturous hours had passed. For Eoywn, if felt like mere seconds.   
  
Another cry came out of the trees, but this time Éowyn was ready. She drew her bow and fired. The arrow was true, and hit its mark square on the head.  Eoywn dismounted and knelt down next to the corpse.   
  
“What are you doing?” asked Faramir, looking over.   
  
“Sending a message.” Éowyn straightened up. Her white sleeves were red with blood and she held the orc’s hand by its hair in one hand and a bloody knife in the other. She remounted and held up the head. “Hear me!” she cried. “Goblins and orcs and other creatures as foul as the pit from whence they came! I am Éowyn, slayer of the Witch King of Agmar. His steed’s head is mounted above my fire place. This one shall join him! Will you?”   
  
Her eyes where alight with anger and bloodlust. The moonlight shone on her hair, giving a gleam that was not of this world. She did not smile, nor did she frown and for a moment, she seemed more terrible than anything that walked the earth.

Faramir blinked and she was his wife again. She had lowered the head and was tying it by its hair to her belt.

She looked over at him. “Did I frighten you?”   
  
Faramir shook his head, lying to her and to himself. “Are you hurt?”

Éowyn shook her head. “We should keep riding.”

The orcs did not disturb them again that night. Nor the next day. Nor the day after that. But the couple was still troubled. When they returned home, Faramir called the Rangers to have them scout for orc bands and report back. The castle seemed grey now to Eoywn, as though the stones had already become weathered and dirty. Without the Rangers there, it seemed quiet and empty and her footsteps echoed to loudly in the corridors.   
  
Éowyn longed to go with the Rangers. She had many reasons to want to. The thrill of adventure, to learn about the country she now ruled. But she mostly wanted to get away from her husband and chase out the darkness in her own heart.   
  
She promised she would help the Queen Athriel of Mirkwood and negotiate with her. She had also promised to no longer vie with the Great Riders, but that promise seemed less important now when the orc attacked her and spilled her blood upon the earth.   
  
She and her husband could go days without seeing each other. Eoywn preoccupied herself by running the castle, commanding the servants, ordering and paying for food and clothing, checking to make sure everyone under her employ was paid. When she had spare moments, she went into the library. By badgering the old man who worked there to teach her, she learned to read maps and began figuring out potential sites for the colony.  

It did give her joy to learn these things. She had not learned to read in her youth. Her people passed down songs of their history and did not need letters to remember.   
  
It was in the library that she most often crossed paths with her husband. He looked so unlike the man she had married. Some days, he would try to reach out for her, try to catch her eye. But he would look away and keep walking.   
  
Her nightmares did not change except to grow in frequency. Everyday, she would wake with her heart pounding and a scream on the edge of her lips. Pain stabbed her arm, and every night she thought it was broken. Once, she reached for her husband, but clutched empty sheets. She remembered that she had taken to sleeping in another room.

***  
The Queen of Mirkwood came to Emyn Aren a month after the wedding, as promised. Her entourage was smaller than the wedding one, just having a few bodyguards who doubled as ladies in waiting. She and Éowyn greeted each other warmly, kissing each other on the cheek. Faramir was there, and said little. The queen and the lady joined arms and went into the castle.   
  
They talked for hours about the colony and the benefits and drawbacks of each location.   
  
“I must warn you,” said Eoywn when the discussion turned to a place where she and Faramir had camped. “My husband and I were attacked by orcs not five miles from there. If they decide to attack while you settle, it could prove disastrous.”   
  
“But it would be a line of defense if they decided to try to wage war,” said Athriel. “And I doubt you would have consented to us settling here if we were not willing to help you defensively.”   
  
“I am afraid it is so. I hope you do not take offense.”   
  
“Worry not,” said Athriel. “Sauron and the Witch King maybe vanquished, but their servants still roam.”   
  
Éowyn repressed a shudder at the thought. She knew that there were still Nazgûl in the land, and the thought troubled her. “I think we’ve talked enough for tonight,” said Eoywn. “Shall I call for food and wine?”   
  
Athriel’s eyes glinted with delight. “By all means.”   
  
Some of the casket the Hobbits had sent was still left it was brought to them along with dinner.  
  
“Will your husband be joining us?” asked Athriel, once the servants had departed.   
  
“I don’t think so.” Éowyn took a sip of her wine. “What about yours? I thought he would come.”   
  
“He had to stay in Mirkwood and govern. He would have come, but our son has run off with a dwarf.”   
  
Éowyn raised her eyebrows and pretended to be surprised.   
  
“It was my son’s idea to make a colony, you know,” she said. “He loves Mirkwood, but he believes that we would could do great good in the outside.”  
   
“From what I hear, he was a sight to behold on the Battlefield.”   
  
“Did you fight alongside him?”   
  
Éowyn shook her head. “I was unconscious by the time he and Elessar arrived with the ships. And I was forced to stay behind during the assault on the Gates of Mordor.”  
   
“A shame. I heard you were also a sight to behold.”  
   
“I thank you,” said Éowyn. She sipped her wine. “But I would have never met my husband if I had not stayed.”   
  
“Why were you forced to stay behind? Was it because of your sex?”   
  
“No, no. Well. Perhaps. I need more wine if we are to talk about that.”   
  
And so they drank, each downing a goblet full and a little bit more of the wine.   
  
“Black breath,” said Éowyn at last. “Cursed black breath from the Witch King. Faramir was poisoned by it as well. They made him stay.”   
  
“I am deeply sorry,” said Athriel. She was swaying a bit. “Black Riders. They’re lucky they never came anywhere near Mirkwood. I would have skewered them all.”   
  
“I don’t doubt it.” Eoywn took another long drink. She cursed. “I’m thinking about it now. And I’m thinking about him. He needs to… I don’t know. We haven’t been talking.”   
  
“Why not? You are newlyweds! You should be making love on every surface in this place!”   
  
“He looks at me all sad,” said Éowyn. “I can’t stand it. And it makes… I keep thinking about Pelanor Fields. It haunts me like a ghost. And I don’t know how to tell him.”    
  
Athriel patted Éowyn’s shoulder. “Look. ‘M a little drunk. I’ll try my best to give you good counsel if you’ll hear it.”   
  
“I don’t care.” Éowyn’s head felt very heavy, so she rested it on the table. “Don’t care at all. Talk.”   
  
“Talk to your husband. ‘e’s a good man. Very good. And tell him what you told me.”  
  
“I dunno. He doesn’t want me… Sad. He thought he had cured me with his love.”   
  
Athriel snorted. “Love is a powerful thing, and can sooth many wounds,” she said. “But it is not a cure. Trust me. I’ve been living with my husband for… God, even I’ve lost track. Thousands of years. And we still have nightmares and feel the impossible burden of what we’ve seen.”   
  
“Thousands of years?” asked Éowyn, a little too drunk to get the point. She lifted her head from the table. “I’ve only known my husband for… a year. Except not really. Spent a lot of that year at home.”   
  
“Wouldn’t he be here with you?”   
  
Éowyn shook her head. “Not here home. Home. Home. Real home. Edoras.”   
  
“Give it time.” Athriel took another swig from her goblet. She looked down at it. “Reminds me. Do not talk to your husband drunk about death and trauma and horrible things. Make love with him after a goblet full.”   
  
Éowyn made a face. “You’re a thousand years old, ‘m not taken sex advice from you.”   
  
“Got more experience than you do.”   
  
“Shut up.” Éowyn laid her head back onto the table again. “You’re old.”   
  
“You’re young,” retorted Athriel. “Barely two decades old.”  
  
Éowyn lifted her hand and waved it lazily. “Shhh. I’m gonna sleep.”   
  
“That sounds good. Sounds very good.” Athriel rested her head on the table as well. “Goodnight, Lady Éowyn.”  

“Goodnight.”   
  
Athriel departed a week later, the plans for the Mirkwood colony made. All there was left was to build it. Éowyn and Faramir stood at the castle gate, watching the queen and her company depart. Éowyn did not look at her husband.   
  
“Why have we been avoiding each other?” asked Faramir.   
  
Éowyn sighed. “My mind has been preoccupied.”   
  
“With what?”   
  
A hand clenched around Éowyn’s throat. “The colony.” Not a lie.   
  
“I imagined so.” Faramir slipped his hand into Éowyn’s and squeezed her fingers. “The Archivist has told me you’ve learned to read.”   
  
“I’ve learned to recognize names and symbols on a map,” said Éowyn. “The larger tomes are still incomprehensible to me.”   
  
“Would you like me to teach you?”   
  
“I would.”   
  
“Is there anything else that troubles you?”  
   
Éowyn looked up and saw compassion and love in her husband’s eyes. “You look as you did in the Houses of Healing,” she said.   
  
“Does it still plague you? The illness that took you there?”   
  
“I see Pelanor Fields every night,” she said. “I see the body of my uncle and king, and my arm hurts as though it was newly broken.”   
  
Faramir said nothing, simply embraced his wife and kissed her golden hair.  
  
She closed her eyes and whispered. “Does it not disappoint you? That I am so unchanged? That dark thoughts still hunt me.”   
  
“I loved you in your darkest hour and I still love you now that it has come again. I only ask that you do the same for me.”   
  
“Of course. I only hope that I have the courage to look upon you when I feel most ashamed.”

“You are Éowyn, Shieldmadien of Rohan, Slayer of the Witch King of Agmar. You’re courage is boundless.”

Éowyn pressed her lips and they had their first kiss in what felt like an age. Faramir held his wife close to him. He still feared that his mother, his brother and finally, his father walked down far too soon, but she was alive and warm in his arms.  
           

 


End file.
